


Not Even in Your Wildest Dreams

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliffjumper hates his job.  He hates processing reports, he hates taking calls, and he HATES his boss, Longarm Prime.  What he doesn't hate, however, is a certain field agent who comes to visit every few lunar cycles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even in Your Wildest Dreams

The first word that came to mind when describing his work for the Intelligence Agency was 'boring,' at least as far as Cliffjumper was concerned, though 'frustrating' came a close second.  He wasn't a field agent; he wasn't living a life of adventure, following leads, interrogating mechs in shady bars, spying on Decepticon agents.  _That_ would have been a blast.  But Cliffjumper wasn't worth that much.  His unpleasant personality had kept him from landing the job of his dreams, and instead relegated him to clerical work.

He could input information into a database with the best of them, schedule appointments, take calls, stay organized, and keep the Intelligence Agency running in tip-top shape.  And he _hated_ it.  Working for Sentinel hadn't been half so bad – at least _he_ had a volatile personality and worked directly with the incoming privates.  It was a combination destined for hilarity.  Working for Longarm Prime, however, was nothing but long days spent in the office, bouts of tedium interrupted by long stretches of nothing.  It was the worst application of his skills he could think of.

And there was one more thing . . .

"I'm here to see Longarm Prime!" said the smiling field agent with _far_ too much energy for this early in the day. 

Cliffjumper had always liked Agent Blurr.  For one thing, he was one of the only agents who knew how to fill out a damn report!  He didn't care to think about how many breems of his life he'd wasted on correcting grammar and filling in blank spaces where an agent had left out a vital bit of information – like their _name_.  In comparison, Blurr's reports were always a welcome breath of precise lines and detailed content, which made it all the more infuriating when Longarm had requested that he make his reports in person instead.  Why?!  It was completely unnecessary – _any_ other agent would have been better-suited to making reports in person, where Cliffjumper wouldn't have to muck his way through the jumbled mess of mush that they left on his desk.

Of course, Cliffjumper could guess why Longarm might want Blurr around.  It was the other thing that Cliffjumper liked about Blurr as well.

That bot was _damn_ pleasing on the optics.  His shapely speedster legs stretched all the way to the sky and back, and that was enough to make Cliffjumper drool like a slack-jawed Constructi-bot at an open-top bar, but further going for the bot were those sleek, racer lines that made up his breastplate and shoulder pauldrons, that thin waist that begged for him to wrap his arms around it, and the shocking blue paintjob that was sure to draw every optic in the room.  It made Cliffjumper wonder how he managed to be an effective spy at all.

  After a moment of staring, Cliffjumper belatedly realized that Blurr had been speaking to him about . . . well, something.  To be honest, the bot's one major flaw was his incomprehensible babbling.  But it was a small price to pay, and made it all the more easy to enjoy the sights.

Blurr's narrowed cyan optics were fixed on Cliffjumper, impatiently waiting for an answer to some question he had asked.  Cliffjumper had not doubt that he was all-too aware of the way that he was being stared at, and was not happy in the least.  Still, happy or not, he made no comment on Cliffjumper's behavior.  Instead, he pulled the little bot away from his lecherous thoughts by uttering an  irritated, "Well?"

"Well?" Cliffjumper repeated, completely confused and not caring.

"Are you going to let me in so that I can report to Longarm Prime about the top secret mission that I have just returned from.  I ran all the way here and –"

"Oh, oh yeah," Cliffjumper interrupted before he was exposed to round two of blithering nonsense.  "I'll let him know you're here."

He commed Longarm, not missing the way the dull monotone of his boss's boring voice took on a giddy edge once Blurr's name came up.  Without another word, he overrode the lock on Longarm's door, and allowed Blurr passage.

Once that gorgeous aft was out of sight, Cliffjumper was tragically left to his boredom anew.  He made an effort to busy himself by reorganizing the datapads on his shelf, but it was a vain effort.  He'd performed this very task time and again in the past,  and there were only so many ways to organize the damn thing before it began to feel pointless.  Title, author, serial number?  Who cared?  It wasn't long before he gave up and allowed his mind to wander into more forbidden territory.

How long had it been since Blurr had disappeared into Longarm's office?  Surely long enough to provide a detailed report and then some, especially at Blurr's preferred speaking speed.  Then again, Blurr _always_ spent a long time in Longarm's office.  It was, all in all, a little suspicious.  Clearly they were doing more than talking business.  Not for the first time, he reflected on the situation, trying to make his way to the root of the mystery at hand, toyed with a few innocent ideas, before at last settling on the inevitable.

Longarm and Blurr were totally interfacing.

It was gross to think about.  Longarm was a little troll of a mech that made _Cliffjumper_ look good in comparison.  There were only two possible ways that he could have landed a catch like Blurr – either he was flagrantly abusing his position as Blurr's superior, or Blurr was a golddigger – and based on his read of the two mechs, he was certain that it was the former that was true.

He should have reported his suspicions to the Magnus – the office was no place for a romantic tryst, and relationships between Primes and their subordinates were strictly forbidden.  But if he did that, then there was sure to be an investigation, and what if it really was nothing after all?  Moreover, guilty or not, the result of such an investigation would be a very angry Longarm Prime, a transfer to a different division for Blurr, and a world of pain for Cliffjumper.  As much as he hated his own boss, he _lived_ to see Blurr's pretty chassis in the office ever few lunar cycles.  The last thing he wanted was to lost that.

In fact, what he _really_ wanted was Blurr.  He wanted to be the one that Blurr came to running to see after a mission.  He wanted to squeeze that oh-so-squeezable waist, to run his hands over that smooth windshield, to bury his spike in that sweet valve, to make him moan and beg and cry out with Cliffjumper's name on his lips.  And he knew he never would.  As far as Blurr was concerned, he was Longarm's homely little secretary and nothing more.  He would never have a bot like Blurr.  All Cliffjumper had was his imagination – fantasies about steamy nights that would never come to pass.  And he _hated_ it.

Caving to frustration, he buried his face in his hands, shuttered his optics, and tried to pretend that he was far away from this insulting job and his insufferable boss and the beautiful bot he'd never have.

* * *

 

It was another slow day.  There'd been no sign of a Decepticon presence for deca-cycles now, and as such, not much paperwork to file, not too many bots clamoring to see Longarm Prime, no visitors, nothing at all.  Cliffjumper was bored out of his mind.  It was thus, that he leapt forward in his seat, spark pounding and EM field eager when the door to his office slid open.

He deflated when he saw who it was.

"You're here to report to Longarm Prime, I take it," Cliffjumper said, finding it impossible to keep the grumpy edge out of his voice.  He didn't know what he'd been expecting.  Some kind of emergency perhaps?  A call to duty – a matter so urgent that even _Cliffjumper_ would have been permitted to answer.  But no.  It was just Blurr, here for one of his routine trysts with Longarm Prime.

"Is everything all right?" Blurr said.  Cliffjumper stared dumbly at that far-too-attractive bot as he took in those words.  Blurr had never talked to him about anything other than Longarm before.

He continued, when it was clear that Cliffjumper was too baffled to respond.  "What I mean is, you look a bit overwhelmed.  You're finish isn't quite so lustrous as it tends to be, your posture is slouched when you're normally at attention, and all in all, you sound a little grumpy.  What's going on?"

At last, Cliffjumper regained his wits, enough so to focus on the conversation.  Blurr's words took a moment to process, but once heard, they made Cliffjumper's spark flutter with a giddy glee.  Blurr had been paying attention to him, even if he'd never given any indication of it!  And he _cared_!  Cliffjumper thought he should overheat right there.

"Ah, well I suppose I _am_ a little grumpy," he said at last, crossing his arms and staring at the ground, suddenly ashamed.  Blurr didn't need his attitude; he'd done nothing wrong.

"Why's that?" he pressed.

Cliffjumper didn't want to answer that, but Blurr was staring at him with those wide, expectant optics, and how could Cliffjumper deny him anything?  "Well, it's kinda stupid really."

"Stupid?"  Blurr cocked his head, and it was perhaps the most adorable thing Cliffjumper had ever seen!  He wanted more than ever to run his hands down the sleek curves of Blurr's plating, feel the soft metal of those kissable lips beneath his own.  If only this stupid desk wasn't in the way.

"Well, I mean –" he was getting flustered, and it was beginning to show.  Worse yet, Blurr would surely notice his odd behavior, and be put off by it.  He'd never speak to Cliffjumper again!  This was a nightmare in the making.  Cliffjumper continued on, stumbling over words in his fervor to do the exact opposite.  "It's nothing really, just a slow day, and I was hoping that you'd be . . . well, not you."

A  frown graced Blurr's lips.  "What do you mean by that?"

Well that had been an awkward thing to say.  Cliffjumper winced.  "No no no!  What I meant was, I was looking for someone to come in and give me something to do, and no offense or anything, but you only ever come here to uh – to help Longarm, so I'm a bit stuck."

"Well well well well well," Blurr said, in the same manner one might say a single, long and coy 'well.' "I suppose I could mix things up, just for today."

"Wait, what?"

Blurr's frown transformed into a wicked smile and he leaned over the desk, face close.  "If you're looking for something to do, perhaps I could be of service to you, if 'helping' me is something you're feeling up to?"

Was this really happening?  Was he reading this situation correctly?  Was Blurr _actually_ trying to seduce him? !  He'd never imagined the bot would be so forward about it.

"But what about Longarm?"

"What about Longarm?" Blurr mimicked, bridging agile fingers beneath his chin.

Cliffjumper looked frantically about, searching for signs of Longarm, or of a camera, or any other signs that he was being set up.  As best he could tell, there were none.  "Well, I mean, aren't you two a thing?"

Blurr shrugged.  " You've been lusting after me for half the solar cycle now.  Well, now I'm here, and I want you and you want me, and it's not like I _belong_ to Longarm Prime anyway.  Are you really going to let him stop you from getting what you've wanted for so long?  It's up to you."

And damn it, that was all the permission Cliffjumper needed.  He leapt up from his seat, leaning over the desk, and reaching for Blurr, pulling him closer, reveling in the clash of metal as he took Blurr's mouth with his own, devouring the mech with all of the frustration of the last several lunar cycles.

With all the grace of a cybercat, Blurr leapt up onto the desk, and without missing a beat, found Cliffjumper's lips again, using his greater leverage to guide Cliffjumper back into his chair.  The seat had been built for a bigger bot than Cliffjumper, and the two of them fit easily as Blurr moved in to straddle his lap, abandoning the kisses to lick at Cliffjumper's lips and cheeks, glossa exploring the thin line between face plating and helm.

Cliffjumper's fans were already running full blast, his small frame heating quickly, helped along by the way that Blurr writhed just so in his lap, pressing their arrays together in a rhythmic motion that left an uncomfortable pressure growing behind Cliffjumper's panels.  He'd have to open them soon. 

But not here.  Like the Pit was Cliffjumper going to be caught banging his boss's _favorite_ agent, right in front of his office, where _anyone_ could walk in on them.  Being caught by Longarm would be mortifying, but it would be just as bad to be discovered by an unannounced Sentinel Prime.  He pressed a hand to Blurr's windshield, forcing a small distance between them.

"Why are we stopping?" he asked, without so much as a hitch in his vents.  The fact infuriated Cliffjumper, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"We can't do this – uh – here.  Gotta find somewhere else.  Maybe a closet?  Or the washracks?  Or . . ."

"Let's just use Longarm's room."

Cliffjumper's processor forced itself into reboot.  Was he _actually_ hearing this?  "What?!  No!  We can't do that!"

"Why not?" Blurr asked with an innocent smile, already trying to push past the hand that restrained him.  Cliffjumper had to double his efforts to keep the speedster at bay, grabbing onto one of Blurr's skinny arms with his free servo.  "It's not like you can't unlock it from here."

"Are you nuts?!" he cried out, and then realized that the unnecessary noise might draw unwanted attention.  He dropped his voice to a whisper, before adding, "He's _in_ there right now!  And even if he wasn't –"

Before he could finish his protestation, Blurr was interrupting, with a skillfully placed grind of his hips.  "No he's not."

"I – what?"

"Longarm's out sick today.  How did you miss that?"

How indeed?  The surrealism of the scene was getting to be too much.  There was _no way_ this was really happening.  And if it wasn't real, then there was no reason why he _couldn't_ frag his boss's squeeze in his boss's room.   

"Oh.  Okay then.  Let's go for it!"  He keyed open the door, a bit difficult with Blurr's hands digging into the gaps of his plating, traveling up and down his body with their reverential touch.  At last though, he was able to peel the needy bot away for long enough to travel the distance between his desk and Longarm's office, where he was quick to lock the door behind him.  There was no sense in taking chances.

Of course, he didn't make it much farther than that.  Blurr was on top of him the second the door clicked behind them, pushing Cliffjumper to the floor with a series of hungry kisses, trailing down his chest plate, and seeking out the few patches around his waist where protoform showed through.  At last, with no more reason to hold back, Cliffjumper retracted his panels, allowing his spike to spring forth with a slick pop.  The motion didn't escape Blurr's attention, and he moved lower still, to admire the goods.

Cliffjumper turned his head to the side to hide his embarrassment.  His spike wasn't particularly impressive, in size nor shape.  An attractive mech like Blurr had no doubt seen his fair share of spikes, what would he think of Cliffjumper's?  Would he call it quits right there?

But of course he didn't.  Instead, he took Cliffjumper's spike into his mouth with the same fervor as every other one of his actions, taking it down to the base, pulling out to the tip, sucking and licking and bringing forth the most _sinful_ of sensations in Cliffjumper.  He let out a low groan, arching into the touch. With a free hand, Blurr continued his downward progress, two nimble fingers finding their way into Cliffjumper's slick valve, dancing across his nodes, spreading out his walls, and leaving him a babbling mess.

"Primus, Blurr!  That feels so – wait, why are you stopping?" 

Blurr had pulled away, from spike and valve both, licking  lubricants from his fingers thoughtfully, before scurrying up Cliffjumper's frame, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his mouth.  Cliffjumper could taste himself on Blurr's glossa, which filled him with another wave of pleasure.  He needed some release.

"Blurr," he begged.

This time, Blurr pressed a finger to Cliffjumper's lips to silence him.  "I can keep going if you want, but do you really want this to end without a proper frag?"  His point was accentuated by the whirr of his own panels opening.  Primus, had they been closed this whole time?! 

He angled his slender hips downward, letting the tantalizing heat of his valve wash over Cliffjumper's spike, torturous, as his vantage left Cliffjumper with little ability to maneuver the two of them into a more favorable position.  This would all be on Blurr.

"Well well well?" the infuriating speedster chimed, allowing the lower half of his frame to grind against Cliffjumper's, granting him a brief reprieve from the sad lack of anything being done about his straining spike, but it wasn't nearly enough.

"Frag!"  Cliffjumper spat out, wrapping his arms around Blurr's waist and trying to force him downwards, force him closer.  "Stop torturing me and get your valve around my spike now!"

"Needy, needy," Blurr chided, but did as he told, struggling a bit to move, as Cliffjumper's arms held him like a vice.  But soon enough, he was in position, sinking onto Cliffjumper's spike with a soft hitch of his vents.  _Finally,_ the fragger's hold on his composure showed signed of failing.  Cliffjumper felt vindicated. 

Being inside of Blurr wasn't half bad either.  He'd been afraid that his small spike would be inadequate at pleasuring a mech of a larger size class, but Blurr's valve was narrow as the rest of him, and though Cliffjumper couldn't get in as deep as he'd have liked, he was still able to take pride in the tightness of the fit, in the way those calipers strained and fluttered around his spike, shooting bursts of pleasure right through to his spark.  Blurr had already gotten him so worked up, he feared he wouldn't be able to last long before his overload.

Unsurprisingly,  Blurr didn't spend much time adjusting.  Already, he was grinding his hips, working Cliffjumper's spike deeper, in and out, faster and faster.  Aware that his hands were only getting in the way, he released his hold on Blurr's waist, opting instead to prop himself up on his elbows for a better view.  And what a view it was!

Blurr was splayed across his lap, those glorious thighs spread wide around him, weight resting on his knees, which were starting to tremble beneath the effort.  His back was arched as he pleasured himself around Cliffjumper, exposing that waist that still begged to be grabbed, and that full, polished breastplate, proudly displaying its Elite Guard insignia.  He was doing an admirable job of keeping his head upright, so that Cliffjumper could see his face, his slack jaw, glossa beginning to loll out, the heated flush of his face plates, the blinding glow to his otherwise unfocused optics.  Cliffjumper was willing to bet that _he_ looked much the same.  

But Blurr was only able to hold the position for a short time.  With a sudden jolt, he threw himself forward, supporting himself on Cliffjumper's sturdy chest as he rocked his hips viciously, without rhythm, his head hanging limply, optics extinguished. 

"C'mon Blurr, you're doing so well," Cliffjumper began to babble encouragements, as a way to pretend that he had any sense of control left.   Who was he kidding?  Blurr was 100 percent in charge here – had been the moment he'd walked through the door of the office, a whirlwind of passion and need and words straight from Cliffjumper's every fantasy.  Was it any wonder that he'd been swept away?

"I'm so close.  Come on, you feel great.  Just a little more!"  He could feel the electricity welling up within him, desperately seeking release.  It tingled in his fingertips, his head felt light, dizzy, he was so close . . .

The door slammed open, and there was Longarm, watching him – frowning, judging.  Awww scrap!  He'd been caught!  How had that happened?  Blurr had said that Longarm was out for the day! 

Oh _frag_ he was fired!  At best.  He wasn't entirely convinced that Longarm wouldn't kill him.  After all, here he was, on Longarm's floor, the evidence of his overload in Blurr's valve, dribbling out onto his lap.  Well, maybe not dribbling.  Maybe it was just on his lap.  And maybe he wasn't on the floor, and maybe Blurr wasn't actually above him, or actually anywhere to be seen.  Maybe he was still sitting at his desk.

"Cliffjumper, what – may I ask, is the meaning of this?"

He must have dozed off, had one of the most erotic dreams of his miserable life.  His panel must have retracted itself at some point, and then . . . and this . . . this was just embarrassing. 

"I –" He couldn't take his eyes off of his transfulid-spattered crotch, fans still running at an embarrassing high and processor muddled by his mortification.  "I –"

Longarm slammed a hand on the desk, looming down on Cliffjumper, no doubt with aid from his stretching powers.  His face was that same unnaturally serene mask that it usually was, but there was an edge to his EM field that filled Cliffjumper with terror.

"Well?"

Cliffjumper, on the spot, said the first thing that he could think to.  "W-where did Blurr go?"

Evidently, it had been the wrong thing.  Longarm's mask slipped as the dawning of enlightenment crept in, and then recovered in time to hold back the impending rage.  Cliffjumper could feel the danger in Longarm's EM field, and he shrank back into his chair, wishing for all the world that he hadn't just overloaded at his desk at work while dreaming about screwing Blurr.

Instead of ripping off Cliffjumper's head, however, Longarm whirled around, jerking his hand from the desk, and turning his back on Cliffjumper, as though he couldn't stand the sight of the small mech.  "Blurr left some time ago.  I'd wonder how you missed him, but I can take a guess.  It's for the better.  This display you've made is a disgrace."

"Y-yes Sir," Cliffjumper squeaked, shrinking further into the chair.  Part of him really wanted to get out of the office and clean himself off, but he didn't dare move with Longarm still in the room.  There was no way he was getting out of this mess alive.  "Are you going to fire me?"

Longarm spared him the most scornful of glances before turning his attention back to Iacon below.  "No, I don't suppose I will."

What?!  Either Longarm had the tolerance of a saint, or he had some sort of extra menacing punishment in store.  Cliffjumper was willing to bet on the latter.

"Oh," he said, voice still shaky.  "Then . . . ?"

"Then nothing," Longarm said, turning with a slow precision to stare at Cliffjumper.  "You will clean up this mess, clean up yourself, and get back to work.  I am, of course, angry that you fell asleep on duty, but I don't suppose you had any control over what your body did from there on in.  Promise it will never happen again, and there will be no issue."

This was unprecedented!  Perhaps he'd misjudged Longarm's character after all.

"Thank you, Sir!" Cliffjumper exclaimed, leaping from his feet.  There were private washracks on this floor of the Metroplex, for those working long hours.  He'd have to sneak down there and hope that nobody noticed the thick liquid running down his legs.  No problem!

"Oh, and Cliffjumper," Longarm continued, with a detached interest.  "There is one more thing I request of you."

"Of course!  Absolutely!  You name it!" said Cliffjumper, afraid of falling out of his Boss's good graces so soon.

Longarm was across the room in one long stride, inches away from Cliffjumper's face, his presence poised to threaten, to intimidate.  Cliffjumper froze in his tracks, spark racing, plating rattling in fear.  He was dead after all. 

When Longarm spoke, his voice was deep and ancient, striking Cliffjumper to the core.  "I'd advise you to delete these _affections_ you hold for Blurr from your processor.  He belongs to _me_ , and I will not tolerate a fool like you leering at that which you cannot have.  Are we clear?"

"Y-yes Sir!"  It was a miracle that Cliffjumper's vocaliser was able to produce any sound at all.

"Good," Longarm replied, voice returning to its normal raspy monotone.  He stepped away from Cliffjumper, moving instead to open the door.  "Now go."

Cliffjumper didn't need to be told twice.  He found Longarm's claim on Blurr to be disturbing in the highest degree, but what did it matter?  His fantasy was never going to come to pass anyway.  Blurr only had eyes for Longarm; someone like _him_ never stood a chance.  Longarm could keep him.

It was thus he found himself in the washracks, the memory file attached to Blurr's name displayed on his HUD.  He thought back to his dream, to the pride, the joy he'd felt when Blurr had said his name, had proven that he paid any attention to Cliffjumper at all in their brief time together, the ecstasy he'd felt as Blurr writhed around his spike, dragging him to overload with his quick, desperate movements.  Things like that would never be for him. 

He deleted it all, as the solvents poured down over him, washing away all memory of that dreadful dream.

* * *

 

Agent Blurr stepped into the office at the Metroplex with a confident grin and a wave.  It made Cliffjumper's tanks churn.  He hated Blurr.  He hated that smug smile and his perfect posture and the way that he always made his reports in person – who did he think he was?!

"Agent Blurr," Cliffjumper sneered.  "Reporting to Longarm?"

Blurr paused for a moment, as though taken aback.  Perhaps he wasn't used to being addressed in such a hostile manner.  Well, it was something he'd better get used to.  Just because he was getting special treatment from _Longarm_ , didn't mean that he was going to get any from Cliffjumper.

Without another word, Cliffjumper buzzed Longarm's comm, and moved to let Blurr into his superior's office, and Blurr, distaste swept aside in favor of his duty at hand, stepped through, vanishing through that door, and out of Cliffjumper's sight.

Good riddance.


End file.
